


Father Christmas

by MotherofBulls



Series: Why Hermione Has Never Seen Brazil [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Caroling, Christmas Spirit, F/M, Glogg, North Pole, Polar bear sex rug, You read that the fuck right, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21590971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherofBulls/pseuds/MotherofBulls
Summary: Being the spoiled man-child that he is, Draco Malfoy thought he could have it all for Christmas: a girlfriend he was head over heels for, a holiday in his childhood winter home in the North Pole, and a dignified family affair with the aforementioned girlfriend and his mother. Never did he imagine Narcissa would have her own ideas. This Christmas, Draco will be forced to confront the last glimmers of his childhood and accept a new father figure into his life.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Narcissa Black Malfoy/Santa Claus
Series: Why Hermione Has Never Seen Brazil [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/944886
Comments: 17
Kudos: 122
Collections: D/Hr Advent 2019





	Father Christmas

"Okay, prepare yourself, Granger," Draco said, carrying an enormous bowl of popcorn to the couch. "Because this film will change your life."

She smirked into her glass of Cabernet Sauvignon. They had tried to watch this film several times over the past year, but something _(see_ sex) had always interrupted them. In fact, they had sat down to watch _Brazil_ and ended up doing the dirty so many times that her nipples harden at the mere suggestion they attempt to watch it. "I've sort of already seen it, you know."

"No, you have existed in the room while it plays in the background," he said, settling down next to her, keeping a comfortable distance lest he become distracted from the task at hand. "Alright," he poised the remote control, " _Brazil_ , here we co—"

" _I get knocked down! But I get up again! You're neeeeeever gonna keep me down! I get knocked down!..._ "

His cheeks reddened as he fished his phone from his trouser pocket. "It's Mum. I'm so sorry, I've got to take this. Do you mind?"

"Nice ringtone."

He glared at her as he answered his phone. "Mum? Is everything alright?"

She was dating a man of many quirks, not least of which was his unapologetic "Mummy's boy" status.

"Mum…just slow down a moment. You're not making any sense." Draco said into the mobile. "But…" he sighed, "I thought after you read that book about the pasta and the yoga that you weren't interested in—yes-I-am-aware-she-gets-married-at-the-end-of-it-but-I- _certainly_ -hope-you-won't-be-so-foolish!" There was a beat wherein Draco's face underwent several emotions, ultimately culminating in contrition. "I'm not _sassing_ you. I'm sorry, Mum. Of course. Yeah. No, we'd be thrilled to visit. Alright. I love you too." He hung his head.

She slowly chewed popcorn while examining him through the corner of her eyes. "Everything alright?"

"Yeah," he said in an exhalation of breath. "Everything's fine." He stood up and vanished the popcorn. "We have to pack."

"What? _Why?_ "

"My mum wants to have us at the winter lodge for Christmas."

Okay. Wow. _So_ much information in that sentence, yet so many questions. "But…I…" She shook herself. "Why do you seem so upset? I thought you loved that place."

His eyes lit up. "I _do_. It's…" He momentarily forget about whatever had darkened his mood. "The most _magical place in the world_. There's no one else for hundreds of miles. It's dark. It's lonely. It's cold." The look on his face was akin to ecstasy. "It's… _beautiful_."

"Sounds charming."

"It was the only asset my mother insisted on retaining when she divorced Father."

"Utterly charming."

"It is. I can't wait to share it with you." In an instant, he seemed to remember his earlier discomfort.

"…But?"

"My mum, she…" He sighed. "She's… _met someone_."

"Someone…male?"

He rolled his eyes in affirmation. "He's there now and she wants me to meet him."

She bit her lip to keep from laughing at the situation. "Well, that's great, isn't it?"

"Look, under normal circumstances, I'd be thrilled to go to the North Pole and show you off to my mum. But that's just it. She hasn't even met you."

"I've met your mother."

"Not as my girlfriend, you haven't. She's different than you'd imagine about these sorts of things."

She placed her hands on his shoulders. "So, she'll meet me and you'll meet her new beau. Kill two birds with one stone."

He absent-mindedly stroked one of her hands and proceeded to sulk. "But…I wanted when she met you for it to be about _you_."

"Draco, do you or do you not want to shag me into oblivion in your bedroom at the North Pole?"

His face lit up like a tacky suburban street at Christmas. "We're _going to the North Pole_!"

* * *

The Portkey to the North Pole was not an easy ticket to arrange. For a wizard who wished to travel to a normal holiday destination, like France or Argentina, all one needed was to schedule an arrival time and fork out the cash for the Portkey. For a mad wizard who wished to travel to the North Pole, there was a 48 hour waiting list during which time the wizard was instructed to drink their weight in hydrating fluids and receive a devastating shot in the knee cap for which the overworked Mediwitch would shrug and grunt "to help with toxins and like."

The only condolence was the thought that at one time, a twelve-year-old Draco had been forced to sit down and receive the same shot.

"Drink up," Draco said, handing her an electrolyte potion. They sat in matching hospital gowns, sipping from cups of the vaguely berry-cough-syrupish-tasting liquid.

"For future reference, I hear Paris is lovely this time of year."

"Adorable. I'm telling you, _this_ is the only place you'll ever want to visit again. We'll be there in time to see High Noon at the winter solstice." A dreamy look crossed his face. "The sun beats down on miles of flat, white winter terrain. It's like being on the surface of the moon. You can almost touch the sun." He sighed. "And then…" He snapped his fingers. "Total darkness for the rest of the trip."

"Charming."

"It won't matter." He nudged forward and nuzzled her neck playfully. "We'll be holed up underground in our lodge. Snug as you like." A kiss on her throat. "We'll have no idea what time it is, so we'll make our own rules." Another kiss, this one longer and more suggestive. "We don't even have to leave our bed."

Hermione begrudgingly felt the corners of her lips turn up. "That doesn't sound so bad."

A phlegmy throat clear interrupted their moment. "Drink up," said the surly Mediwitch handing them two more electrolyte potions. "Else your livers turn to dust on arrival."

Draco snickered. "Hilarious, Bertha," he said accepting the cup. He turned to Hermione, "You know Bertha's taken care of me every trip to the North Pole since I was a boy."

"Drink up, Mr. Malfoy," she said in a somewhat less stern voice. "If you finish this cup, your next one will be the peppermint."

An excited gasp. "Bertha makes the _best_ candy-cane flavoured potion." He said, polishing off his cup. "Ahhh. Excellent work, Bertha. My organs are as supple as river salmon."

Hermione could only assume Draco's accustomment to the potion made it easier for him to swallow. She couldn't imagine any flavour, no matter how festive, could make it more palatable.

"Will you be finishing that then, miss, or would you prefer to freeze to death."

Hermione swallowed, mildly terrified of the crotchety old crone. "I…I kind of have to pee, actually."

"That's normal. But you need to finish that before I let you have the candy cane version. I won't be making two batches, you know. Now, finish that, just like Mr Malfoy. He cleaned his cup very nicely."

She glanced, stone-faced at her chipper boyfriend whose eyes twinkled as he gleefully accepted a cup of red and white swirled liquid. The corners of her lips lifted into a slight smile. Her heart grew a fraction of a size.

This wasn't so bad, she supposed.

* * *

" _This is bad, Draco!"_ She screamed over the whirling wind. " _This is very, VERY bad!"_ Her hair blew into her mouth as she spoke. She could feel herself age five years as all the moisture in her recently-hydrated skin evaporated into the frigid North Pole air.

"This is _great_!" Draco countered. "Just give your body a moment to acclimate! You're still in shock from the Portkey."

It had been a _dreadful_ Portkey journey. The weather didn't help, but she was fairly certain there were Department of Airborne Magical and Nonsensical Excursions and Deportation (or, as it was more commonly called, "D.A.M.N.E.D.) tomfoolery involved. Their layover in Greenland was particularly ghastly.

"You know what they say about travel during the holidays," Draco said.

"Don't?"

He chuckled and cast a Bubble Charm around them. "Better?"

Better? Indescribable.

Now that she had regained visibility, she had the singularly unique experience of feeling like _she_ was the one stuck in snow globe and all around her was a perfect replica of a Winter Wonderland. Thousands of snowflakes bounced off hers and Draco's little bubble for two. And the only sight through the falling snow was a flat surface of perfect virgin snow as far as the eye could see.

Indescribable wasn't really the right word. It was the moon landing.

"Do you ever get used to this?"

He sighed, rapt with the sight before them. "Absolutely not." He took her hand and said, "I'm glad you're here with me."

She instantly regretted every second of this preparing for this trip in which she had been anything less than a saint. "Where is your house?" she whispered.

"You see that light in the distance?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Hold tight."

"Wait, Draco, n-!"

Too late.

* * *

They landed in the parlor on their backs.

" _Never_ ," she wheezed, "Apparate me…without _warning_!"

"I knew you probably thought you were too tired to Apparate so quickly. So I fixed it."

"Draco _darling!_ "

Hermione cranked her neck behind her and saw a pale, willowy statue in a floor-length black dress with long, lace sleeves gliding over to them.

" _Mum_!" He leaped to his feat and rushed into her waiting arms.

Hermione watched the two ice blond people embrace. Even though she had been dating Draco a little less than a year, it was still surreal to think of the Malfoys as being a normal enough family to do anything as commonplace as hug. Back at Hogwarts, she would have bet the Malfoys greeted one another with firm handshakes. But they were just like any other immaculately dressed, filthy rich, annoyingly gorgeous family with a magical winter home in the North Pole.

Two perfectly-shaped dark blonde eyebrows raised as the two pale blue eyes beneath them fell upon her. "Miss Granger," Narcissa said, releasing her son. "It is so lovely to meet you. I'm so pleased you were able to come to our home for the holiday."

"Thank you Mrs. Malf—Black!" She had nearly forgotten Draco's parents had divorced. To cover her error, she attempted to curtsy, but halfway through thought better of it, and in an oh-so-cool save, opted for a deep bow in its stead. This curtsy-bow did not go unnoticed by Draco, who appeared to be ready to burst with laughter.

Narcissa, on the other hand, was the perfect gentlewoman. "It is my pleasure. How was your journey?"

How to answer that? A part of her worried that something sudden and fatal would happen to her if she were to lie to a creature like Narcissa Malfoy. But the other, larger part of her wanted desperately for the other woman to like her, nay, _adore_ her. "It was wonderful, thank you for asking."

Draco snorted. _Actually_ snorted in front of his mother.

"Naturally, you must be exhausted. I took the liberty of having Draco's old room prepared for the two of you."

"Thank you _so_ much, Mrs. Mal-Black."

Draco bit his lip as he took her hand and lead her to his old room. "Smooth, Granger."

She ached to thump him. "Shut it, you."

* * *

Draco Malfoy dead ass had a polar bear skin rug in front of the fireplace in his bedroom.

Dead. Ass.

No sooner had they stepped into the room, had her eyes been drawn to it; the grotesque, angry look on its face. Draco politely took her bags and pointed to the rug. "We're shagging on that, by the way."

"Hard pass," she said without taking her eyes off the rug.

Draco tugged her hand and drew her to the bed, where she collapsed face first. "Thank you for being so nice to my mum," he said.

"She scares me, honestly."

"Good," he said, depositing a kiss to the top of her head. "That means you fancy me _quite_ a lot if you would make such a blundering fool of yourself in front of my mother."

She weakly raised her hand in a feeble attempt to strike him. But alas, she could barely lift her arm. The will was strong, but the flesh was withered and exhausted. "So, when do we get to meet this mystery man?"

He banished her to the polar bear rug.

* * *

_Dinner, later that night…_

Okay. So…about Narcissa Mal- _Black_ 's new boyfriend.

Um…it could be said that the two of them had a lot in common. For example, they both had white hair. They both, um…well…

Hermione was coming up short.

Narcissa Black (hurrah!) sat across the dinner table from them, while feeding an overweight, red-cheeked, white haired man with an equally white beard a bite of roast duck. She giggled as a bit of the sauce dripped onto his _red velvet suit with white trim!_

Draco hadn't had a single bite. Nor had he been able to close his mouth since his mother had introduced "Nicky" to the two of them.

"So," Hermione said, clearing her throat. "How did you two meet?"

Narcissa smiled fondly. "Well, Nicky's local if you can believe it."

Hermione believed it. She really fucking did.

"The _only_ local, as it is," Narcissa continued. "One doesn't come to the North Pole to socialize, as you well can imagine, but Nicky just swept me off my feet."

They rubbed noses and Hermione was sure she could hear Draco's back molars crack from the strain of gritting his teeth. "And um…what do you do for a living, Nicky?"

Draco dropped his cutlery. The clang rang through the dining room. "May I be excused, Mum?"

"But you haven't had a bite to eat, darling. You must be peckish. And we both know how beastly you can be when you're hungry."

"Nicky" chuckled.

 _Like a bowl of fucking jelly_ , Hermione thought.

"Ho, ho, ho," he exclaimed. "I have it on good authority, Draco m'boy, that your mother is right. You were a rather naughty child."

Draco merely closed his eyes in response. He appeared to be counting silently to himself.

Nicky continued. "Spent quite a few years on the naughty list, in fact, if memory serves me ri—"

"Sorry. _Nicky_ ," Draco said. "Please excuse me, but I really am unwell." He threw his napkin at his plate and made no attempt to quite the sound of his chair dragging against the floor as he stood up.

Hermione smiled feebly at the couple. "I should…probably. Um…"

Nicky's eyes twinkled in understanding. "Go check on him, my dear. It's the nice thing to do. And you always were a very nice young lady."

She laughed nervously and trailed after him, hoping she remembered the way to his bedroom.

He was passed out, face down, on the polar bear rug.

She sighed. "Draco, you were a brat."

"Oh, _really_ , Hermione? Was I? Was I _really_?"

"Um…yeah?"

"And just _what_ pray tell do you think is more concerning about that? That my mother will be offended that I stormed out of dinner or that her new boyfriend will put me on the thrice damned _naughty list_!"

Hermione sighed. "So…your mother is one hundred percent dating Santa Claus."

" _Yeah._ No _shit_!"

* * *

The next few days were tense. Narcissa and Nicky engaged in incessant and merciless PDA at every possible opportunity. Draco was, predictably, a wretch.

This meant that Hermione had a surplus of time to herself. Going out alone in the cold was out of the question, as she could very well perish. The house was comfortable, but not large enough to accommodate a library. Under the erroneous belief that the Malfoy Lodge would certainly house many books, she did not pack any.

So, no books. And no Draco. No amusements whatsoever, other than occasionally walking in on a kissing, cuddling, caressing couple at every half turn.

It was deathly.

"That's it," she said, pinning Draco down on the polar bear rug. "I'm going to shag you on this tacky thing because I can't think of anything else to do with myself! And I need you snap out of this…whatever these issues are between you and Santa Claus."

His eyes were large as they watched her undo his trousers. "What makes you think I've got issues with Santa Claus?"

Her fingers on his zipper stilled. "You really want to talk about this now?" She yanked his zipper down and reached inside his trousers. The fire roared as she pulled him out.

" _Sweet_ hells, no. No, I don't want to fucking talk about anything but you, right now."

Hermione smirked as she wrapped her lips around him. Sex was its own kind of magic.

* * *

Hours later, per his promise, he found "Nicky" alone polishing off a plate of chocolate biscuits and a glass of milk in the kitchen. Draco rolled his eyes.

He plopped down in the seat in front of him, ignoring Nicky's twinkling eyes as he regarded him warmly.

"Draco, how are you, m'boy?"

"I'm not your boy."

Well. He'd already cocked that one up.

Nicky chuckled. "Of course not. You'll have to forgive an old man, Draco. At my age, you regard everyone as children. It's all you can remember of them, so you think of them all as yours."

"But not my mum, right?"

Santa Claus smiled despite the hard angle Draco's jaw was set in, and the cold flint in his eyes to Santa's warm glow. "Your mother is a special lady, Draco. There's nobody like her."

"I know. And as you've probably already guessed, I've got a bit of a problem with you bonking her in my childhood home."

Santa sighed and pushed his tiny, half-moon spectacles up on his nose. "Now, Draco, I'd watch the language. That's just the sort of thing that landed you a spot on the Naughty List."

His nostrils flared. He clapped his hands down on the table and stood up. " _Why did you fucking put me on the Naughty List every goddamned year?_ "

"And there it is. Draco, you needn't hear it from me. Just go and ask your lovely new girlfriend what sort of damage you caused as a boy."

He sneered. "You don't know anything about me. About us. Don't pretend like you know us."

"I know you, Draco. I know Hermione. I know she's a good person. And I know that you love her very much."

"I…." Draco's mouth went dry. "I haven't told her that yet."

"You should. You should tell her every day. Never waste a moment of your life hesitating to let the people in your life know how important they are to you, Draco. Even if you are afraid she won't say it back."

Draco's heart pounded. He could feel his scalp starting to break out in a sweat, and not the kind he got when Hermione gave him a blowjob in front of the fireplace. "Will she?"

"You know I can't tell you that, Draco. That would cheapen it. Wouldn't you rather hear it from her than a red-faced old man who's schtupping your mother?"

The mere thought of her saying it to him was…"Yes."

"And wouldn't you agree that it's not just any young lady who would trek all the way to the North Pole, enduring extensive physical abuse and discomfort to do so, not to mention the fact that she forced you to come speak to me because she knew it would bring you some sort of peace."

He smiled a lopsided grin. "Hermione's not just anyone."

"She's not. And neither is your mother." He put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "And neither are you, Draco."

There was a tightening in his chest; a warmth spreading from his heart to the tips of his fingers. He didn't care for it. In fact, it was so unfamiliar, he was certain he was dying. "What…what is this feeling? I…can't breath!"

"That's Christmas spirit, my boy."

" _Well, I don't fucking want it!_ " Draco said clutching his chest. "You take it the _fuck_ back!"

"It's _filling_ you, Draco. This is a good thing."

He felt himself slowly collapsing to the floor. "The only Christmas spirit I want to be full of is Grandmother Henrietta's recipe for Flaming Brandied Glogg!"

"Draco, m'boy," Santa Claus placed both his hands on Draco's shoulders and Draco immediately felt relief. He could breath again. "It was already in you. You just had to find it."

Draco narrowed his eyes at the older man, this legend, whose smile and black eyes and white beard and belly-full of jelly were the stuff of songs of old. He had never believed in him as a child because he had never been good enough to receive a visit from him. But three years ago, for the first Christmas since the end of the War and since Draco had signed up to become an Auror, he had received an unmarked box of Chocolate Frogs. His mother had insisted they weren't from her and his father had never given him so much as a kind word. Believing them to be a token from Pansy, likely riddled with Love Potions, he threw them out.

The next year, he received another box, this time with a note that read: _You shouldn't throw out perfectly good Chocolate Frogs. –S.C._

He had also received a pair of cashmere socks. It occurred to him then that this was the year he had truly made a conscious effort to go out of his way to be nice to people.

"Let me ask you something," Draco said. "Why is my mother different to you?"

Santa beamed and answered without hesitation. "Because I have decided that she is. And now that I've seen something special in her, I can't look away."

Draco thought back on the fourteen or so Christmases he could remember in the North Pole. He could not recall a single one in which his mother smiled so resplendently, laughed so freely, or appeared so young to him, even when he was a small boy. It was love that did it now, he was sure. His mother had met someone who loved her in a way his father never did. How different her life might have been had she discovered it sooner. How different _he_ would have been.

"Mr Claus--erm--Santa. May I call you Santa?"

"You may."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat. "If I were to whip up some Flaming Brandied Glogg, would you have some?"

A warmth flickered behind those black eyes. "Draco, m'boy, I would be delighted."

* * *

_"IIIIIIIIIIIIII saw mummy kissing Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnta Clauuuuuuuus!!!!! Underneath the miiiistletoe last niiiiiiiiiiiiiight!"_

It was official. Santa was his best friend. As evident from the amazing duo of a fucking _classic_ they were fucking _nailing._

Somewhere shortly after the glogg bowl had magically emptied itself to the half-way mark, Draco suggested they go caroling to celebrate his newfound Christmas spirit. Spiritssss. Whatever.

Santa heartily agreed, but pointed out that if they went out into the cold night air in their condition, they would probably die. Also, no one else lived nearby, so they could really only carol at themselves, which, as Draco pointed out was a legendary idea as no one could be better audience members than themselves.

"Ah, fuck me, Santa. I'm doing it. I'm going to go tell Hermione I love her." His feet shuffled to face the door, obviously intent on fulfilling his declaration immediately.

Santa put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "That's a wonderful idea, Draco ma' lad, and I fully support it."

"Thank you."

"But also, I can't allow you to do it. At least not right now."

Draco hiccuped. "I understand, Santa. Also, why not?"

"This is a moment, Draco. This is a biiiig moment. You'd want to remember it, right?"

Draco laughed, stumbling over the kitchen counter. "I remember _everything."_

* * *

He would black out. As Merlin is this narrator's witness, he would black out.

But when he would awake the following morning, his mouth tasting of rancid raisins, cursing his Grandmother Henrietta, he would remember the friendship and warmth he had shared with Santa Claus. He would be happy for his mother. He would be grateful for Hermione. He would vomit in burning torrents of spicy red wine, which would feel utterly dreadful on the way out of his body.

But when the hangover faded, he would be left with a sense of family. A sense of Christmas.

It would only be the beginning for him.

The End.

Or the Beginning, depending on how the reader chooses to see it.

* * *


End file.
